A Bond Unbroken
by A Concerned Individual
Summary: When Ingrid falls victim to severe illness, it's up to her partner to try and help her cope... And stop them both from losing hope.
1. Prelude to a Grim Predicament

**_A Bond Unbroken_**

Author's Note - Hello again to all the other fans in the Fillmore section. Why am I starting another fanfic? Well, technically, I've had this written for an era, but I've been hesitant to post it. (The fact that this fic's a few months old explains why it has such a similar plot to a lot of other Fillmore fics out there, you know, where Ingrid gets hurt, etc. Usually, if a plot line's been done already, I don't attempt it as well). "Band of the Bandits" will be continued soon, as soon as this resounding case of writer's block takes a leave of absence from my skull. In the meantime, I'm looking for ways to name the Fillmore/Ingrid pairing. Reformshippy, maybe? They were both juvenile delinquents before becoming the heroic, justice-ly safety patrollers we know them as today. And guess what? That little rant foreshadows the presence of F/I deep within the fic. Unfortunately, you'll have to read the whole thing if you want to get to the deliciously fluffy inner core. And that's really all I have to say, so quit readin' the author's notes and skip ahead to the bold print directly below them.

Part One - Prelude to a Grim Predicament

**_POLICE LINES. DO NOT CROSS._**

Cornelius Fillmore felt his jaw drop as he saw the yellow tape border-lining the school premises. It wasn't the tape itself that startled him. He saw that same yellow tape almost twice every week, for one reason or another - but never before was it being hung by actual policemen. Sure enough, a single police car was seen parked outside X's front doors, with every student outside and clustered around it.

"_Dog._ Looks like something bad went down. Real bad." Fillmore murmured. Immediately, he started imagining the extremes. Maybe someone had stolen from the school vault, or perhaps Folsom had a heart attack. No, no, wait, forget that, she was standing in front of the school, hands on her hips. But her back was turned, so Fillmore couldn't judge the situation by the look on her face.

"You better check it out." Mrs. Fillmore encouraged him. "It looks serious."

The anxious boy wrangled his way out of the seat belt and swung open the car door.  As he trotted towards Jr. Commissioner Vallejo, he hurriedly threw on his favorite gray jacket, as it was a tad chilly outside. His left arm went through the final sleeve as he slowed to a stop beside the Safety Patrol. Ingrid appeared to be absent, but Fillmore didn't dwell on it too long; she was sometimes late for school on those days when her dad, an esteemed professor, stayed behind to experiment a few extra minutes. 

"So, what's the crisis today, Vallejo? Sorry I'm late. We hit some traffic down by..." His speech came to an abrupt halt when he noticed his comrades' somber expressions. The rest of the Safety Patrol was clearly avoiding eye contact, staring down at the light layer of snow on the cold cement below them. Karen Tehama was stealing glances at the school every few seconds, biting her lip. She looked like she was about to cry. Joseph laid a hand on her shoulder subconsciously, but he knew it wouldn't help much. Even O'Farrell, who was usually bright and chipper, seemed dispirited. He stood there silently, using his fingers to nervously twiddle with his sash, his entire body quivering visibly. "Hold up! What's going on?!" Fillmore demanded, feeling a sudden pang of worry strike him hard in the heart. He could feel himself start to tremble; he was dreading their reply. It was something horrible, he could tell just by the looks on their faces.

Joseph Anza opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't find his voice. He gave a melancholy sigh, and instead just grumbled forlornly as he lowered his head to face the ground once again. The remainder of the Safety Patrol shot a desperate glance at Vallejo, and shortly, the Junior Commissioner had been elbowed to the front.

"It... It's Ingrid, Fillmore." Vallejo's voice was quiet and solemn, and lacking the usual, bossy lisp it normally had. He raised a hand to his forehead, as if he were having a splitting migraine. 

"WHAT?!" Fillmore could feel his worry turn to mindless panic as he reached out to latch his commissioner around the collar. Vallejo was, of course, startled by this sudden display of behavior, and had the situation been different, he would've booted him out of the Safety Patrol on the spot.

"Hey! What are you..."

"What happened to Ingrid?!"

Vallejo lashed out at Fillmore's arm in an attempt to pry him off of his collar, but the officer's grip only tightened. "Let... Go...!" He choked out. "Have you gone mad, Fillmore?!"

"_What_ happened to Ingrid?!"  

Both boys stayed in that same stance, eyes narrowed at each other in unfocused aggression. Tehama and Anza took this as their cue. They both sprung into action, restraining the resisting Fillmore, and proceeded to hold him back until they could get him calmed down.

"Fillmore! Get a hold of yourself!" Tehama pleaded in desperation. "Chill for a sec, all right?!"

The boy in question stopped struggling long enough to regain control of his better senses. He let out a shaky breath, as the rest of his body started to relax. Joseph and Karen could feel the tension and hostility leave his system and they loosened their grip. 

"_Oh... snap._ I'm sorry, man. I don't know what got into me." Fillmore rubbed one arm as he stammered an apology. Vallejo nodded his forgiveness, but he still looked a little uptight. "Now, about Ingrid... Please say she's all right."

"I wish we could." Vallejo lamented. "See, she came in a little early today to help us organize some files with her photographic memory, but after only a few minutes she said she was feeling a little nauseous, and left to go talk to the nurse. When we called the nurse about ten minutes later, she still hadn't arrived, so we sent Anza and O'Farrell to investigate. Well, it didn't matter - Stephan Morris, the new president of the Photography club, found her, collapsed, just outside the school darkroom."

Fillmore felt his heartbeat quicken. His eyes widened in terror. "Why are the police here? Why not an ambulance?!" 

"The ambulance already left. Ingrid's being rushed to the hospital." Tehama supplied, wiping her eyes discretely with the back of her palm. "And the police are here because... she's the nineteenth case this week."

Vallejo tried to explain. "See, all over the state, kids have been discovered collapsing with internal conditions matching Ingrid's. It's a disease."

"How long ago did Ingrid collapse? When did she start feeling sick?"

"About twenty minutes ago, I guess." Vallejo shrugged. "I don't know..." 

"What about the other kids with Ingrid's disease? What happened to them?!" Fillmore demanded. His voice had an unusually panicked edge to it, you could tell he was very distressed. 

"Woah, hold on there, Fillmore! What is this, 20 questions?! We don't know, okay?!" Vallejo let his arms hang at his sides, as his gaze wandered over the crowd. "...Look, if you want the whole scoop, you could try talking to Folsom's trusted pet, our _good buddy_ Parnassus. He gets the lowdown on everything."

Fillmore felt himself tense again as he gritted his teeth in protest. He definitely didn't want to end up resorting to asking an old foe for help - especially one that never got busted. Especially one who pinned his scam on one of his mindless henchmen. That was the category in which Brad Parnassus fit in. But Cornelius was desperate for information, he was worried for his best friend's sake, as he reminded himself, and he couldn't let personal biases stand in the way. He pushed his way through the crowd until he spotted the aforementioned blond boy- who was standing outside X's front doors just in front of the police tape, raising his arms as if he had some kind of authority. Fillmore felt a hint of nausea himself as he watched Parnassus smugly answer every question thrown at him by a mob of anxious reporters from the school newspaper.

"...So, it's nothing really... I mean, every kid gets sick every once in a while..." He was saying, as one particularly nosey reporter shoved a microphone in his face. 

The newscaster tapped a pen to his chin. "Can we quote you on that, Mr. Parnassus?" 

Next to approach the podium was Cheri Shotwell, who anxiously wrapped a carefree arm around Brad's shoulders. "So, Bradley, like, has Folsom given you any inside info on Ingrid Third's condition?" 

"Well, information like that is classified, but..." Brad Parnassus halted his little press conference as he saw a familiar face make its way through the crowd. Instantly his expression hardened, and he gently shoved himself out of the peppy cheerleader's embrace. 

"Cornelius Fillmore." Brad forced a smirk. "Nice to see you again."

Fillmore made his way up the steps of X Middle School to stand at eye-level with the blond rival. "Let's cut to the cream cheese, Parnassus. What do you know about Ingrid's disease?"

"Ah yes, Ingrid Third." Brad didn't seem to have heard the question. "I can't say she was my favorite person at X, but, nonetheless, the news of her imminent demise seems a great tragedy to me."

His company looked mortified. "...Imminent demise? What are you talking about!? And what happened to the other eighteen kids who came down with it?"

Brad seemed almost thrilled to provide an answer to this question. "Half of them are still infirmed, bedridden, with skyrocketing temperatures." 

Fillmore was starting to get a sinking feeling in his gut. "And the other half?"

"Well, unless I was misinformed, they entered a coma shortly after losing consciousness... Two of those nine passed away mere hours later." Brad shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.  

A statement of such magnitude only encouraged the reporters. They closed in on Parnassus even more than they already had, and Fillmore was lost in the crowd. He couldn't believe the entirety of what he'd just heard. Ingrid? Sick, bedridden, immobile, doomed? Each of those words stung more than the last. Fillmore had lost a partner once before... but the situation at hand was completely different. He shot his fellow safety patrollers a pathetic look - a look that didn't belong on the face of safety patrol officer Cornelius Fillmore. And just like that, his comrades lost all hope - even the fearless had lost their courage.

But as Fillmore felt himself weakening, he also felt ashamed. Ashamed that he could lose every aspect of his hardcore personality because of one traumatic event. _What would Ingrid say?_

He let that thought hang - Ingrid was unconscious, she was quite unable to say anything about the situation even if she wanted to. Fillmore moped by his lonesome to the northwest wall of the building, and no one bothered to follow besides the curious eyes of the safety patrol. He ignored the little puddle of melted snow on the earth beside him as he flopped to the ground, folding his knees in front of him, resting his head against his arms for support. He needed some time to get away from reality. Some time to sit down in one place and get a hold of himself.

...He didn't cry...

After all, what would Ingrid say? 

_You've got to be strong in times like this._ He reminded himself. _Ingrid wouldn't want it. I've got to be strong, for her sake. I can't let others see my weakness. _But, naturally, he found it difficult to wrangle his emotions into one convenient cage. They kept running wild, and making him desire the craziest things. He could've just gone home, forgotten about school, and cry his problems out like a normal person would. He was almost tempted... _Almost._ But not quite.

Meanwhile, in front of the school, a circle of uneasy safety patrollers watched Fillmore with concern. "Is he...?" Tehama began, eyes wide.

"No. Fillmore's real good at dealing with grief." Vallejo interrupted, already knowing her question. "But... I... I'm worried this experience might be a serious blow to his psyche."

"Come on, guys, this is Fillmore we're talking about. He always seems so collected! I don't think he comes in any other flavor." Danny spoke up for the first time, having recovered from his initial shock enough to find his voice. But he was still a little shaky, and he sounded frightened. "Still, I hope Ingrid will be okay. I mean, she will be, right?"

Vallejo shook his head, sadly. "I don't know. Fillmore looks as if he's just heard some bad news."

"We should go talk to him." Karen suggested. 

"Ah... I think I'd rather not." Anza countered. "It looks as if he'd prefer some time by himself. He's a tough guy, he can handle this. And I'm sure Ingrid will be back soon."


	2. The Young and Hopeless

**_A Bond Unbroken_**

Part Two - The Young and Hopeless

Fillmore lowered a hand to his pocket to gingerly finger his off-campus pass. He had to make sure it was still there, because with it, he was untouchable. Folsom had given him the rest of the day off; an unlikely change-of-heart, true, but it wasn't every day one's best friend collapsed in the hall with a deadly new disease. Besides, no severe crime cases of any kind had arisen for a few days... Which meant the only use for the safety patrol was organizing files and all those other benefits of desk duty. The boy walked somberly over to the front desk, where a lady who looked of her early 20's was talking into several different phones.

"'Scuse me... I'm looking for Third. Ingrid Third. She takin' visitors?"

The young woman forced a smile for Fillmore, but she was simultaneously trying to keep up conversations with both him, her husband, and the angry brother of a dying patient. Her tone quickly alternated depending on whom she was talking to. "Yeah, sweetie, I'll be home at 6:30, hold on, there's a kid here.... Third, you say? You mean that sorta gothy-lookin' girl who was brought in an hour ago? She's unconscious, and I don't know where her room is." She urged a clipboard into Fillmore's face, and then picked up the phone again.

The patroller uttered something of a 'thanks' as he flipped through a couple of the pages that clung to the board. He quickly skimmed through the list of names, looking for Ingrid's. After a few seconds of searching, he found it, and immediately started towards her room. The halls in the hospital, he noticed, were clammy and smelled of ferns; it reminded him of a retirement home. These were the only thoughts he bothered to dwell on as he ventured further and further into the building's heart. He almost didn't notice when he passed by the door labeled with Ingrid's room number. 

He pushed open the door cautiously, and after a quick look around, took a seat at her bedside. Several wires were hooked up to her skin, but other than that, she looked undisturbed, turned on her side as she slept. Her black hair, though unusually disheveled, still lustered in the weak lighting, giving it the appearance of polished metal, or the sparkles in a puddle of dew. As he watched her, he couldn't help noticing how innocent she looked when unconscious. He knew people in their school often called her strange, probably from her slightly gothic preferences in clothing. She also wasn't exactly the most popular person at X Middle School; after busting so many wrongdoers, she had a long list of enemies. But still, she was tough. And a safety patroller, with authority. Few messed with her.

...But, still. She looked so harmless asleep!

He smiled to himself, as he rose from his seat ever-so-slightly to adjust the sheets on her bed. They were unkempt, and bunched up into little clutches underneath her still form. It looked a bit uncomfortable. 

He was enjoying her presence, yes. He could practically hear her voice in his head, telling him not to worry, as the look in her eyes usually said whenever they were faced with another impossible mission. But she was silent. The only noises in the room were the sounds of their breathing, and the beeping of the many monitors that hovered above Ingrid's bed.

"I'm trying to follow my own advice, Ingrid. Tryin' to stay strong in times like this. But it's hard, because I'm worried. Real worried. So you'd better be okay, because you're the best friend this former delinquent has ever had."

He was smiling as he said it, but the smile quickly faded. She remained motionless, her body limp, and her unconscious face never faltered. She probably hadn't even heard him. He let loose a melancholy sigh. He missed her; not physically, of course, because she was an arm's length away; but rather, he missed the sound of her voice, or the feeling he got inside whenever she flashed him one of her rare smiles. He loved seeing her smile; ever since day one, when he stuck by her, and nobody else had.

_"What's this? Joan of Arc cracked a smile!"_

It had felt like a victory all in its own; he wanted Ingrid Third to warm up to him, to be his friend. There was something about her. The fact he knew she was innocent, perhaps. Her impressive IQ? Possibly. Or maybe he saw something else in her... Something nobody else could see, past the light coating of gothic makeup, plain black dress and the matching army boots.

Anyway, reminiscing was sleepy work, and Fillmore, even in his state of stress, was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. His breathing, eventually, fell into step with the rhythm of the heart monitor, evenly-paced and slow. His head leaned against the wall as he slouched further into his chair, and the blinking of his eyes lasted longer and longer each time, until finally, his eyelids didn't come back up. He nodded off twenty minutes into his visit; deep into a dreamless, but peaceful sleep.

Ingrid awoke to the tune of monitors beeping, and the pattering of busy nurses walking about just outside her hospital room. Immediately, the events of early morning came flooding back, as did the searing pain in her abdomen. Not only that, but many of her joints were sore, and her eyes stung when she closed them. She blinked several times to clear up the image a little bit, and then gave herself a quick examination. The hospital gown wasn't too much different from her everyday attire, but it was softer and of a light turquoise color. _Crackers... I must be a wreck. _The girl weakly raised an arm to rub her eyes, until the room was only slightly blurred. But she was surprised at how difficult it was just to move a little bit. And so, she stayed put, listening to the monitors that had awakened her, and the gentle opening and closing of nearby doors, and the sound of her own breathing...

_Wait... _

She thought she heard something. One... two... There it was again!

_There's someone else in here..._ She could hear breathing that wasn't her own.

Ingrid quickly turned her head to one side, alarmed at this new realization. She had thought she was alone... And she was even more surprised when she discovered the second set of breaths was coming from a boy her age. One she knew very well - her partner. Her best friend. And before she'd met the rest of the safety patrol... he'd been her only friend. 

Ingrid held her breath. With his glasses on, she was unable to tell for sure whether or not he was awake. But his breathing was even, and his body remained in the same position, lolled to one side with his head resting against the wall. He was sitting in a small chair by her bedside. Now, she wasn't sure if she liked this situation... on one hand, it made her feel good to know that someone was concerned for her. But on the other, she didn't want him to have to see her in her current state. So weak, so vulnerable. 

She raised an arm to his shoulder and shook him gently. "Fillmore," She whispered hoarsely, trying to rouse him. "Fillmore!" Her companion must've heard her the second time, because his head lurched to one side, and a low, drowsy groan could be heard emitting from his windpipe.

"What...?" He jerked awake in one swift moment, regaining control of his limbs as he straightened up in his chair. He blinked his eyes several times to make sure it was indeed true. Now, Ingrid was conscious, but she looked downright dreadful. There were feverish patches of pink around her eyes, and her face, though usually calm, was unnaturally contorted with pain. He could see a few beads of sweat forming near her forehead, and her green eyes seemed hollow and devoid of any emotion. Fillmore, however, didn't delve much into her physical description, or judge her by it; all he saw was his partner, the girl he couldn't lose. And he knew enough about her condition to know that he had reason to be genuinely worried.

She looked worse than she had a mere hour ago, before Fillmore had fallen asleep.

"Ingrid! _Dog..._" Was all he could say as he noted her sickly features. His eyebrows were arched in shock, but at the same time, he wasn't surprised at all. This isn't to say he wasn't worried. He _was_ worried. That's an understatement. But he knew her condition would worsen; although he refused to believe that, ultimately, she might not make it. The thought was incomprehensible.  

She uttered her reply through gritted teeth - she wasn't angry, just pained. "Why are you here?" 

Fillmore looked unbelieving. "Why am I here?! Snap, Ingrid, have you forgotten? We're _partners_, Ingrid. We're friends."

"So you came to watch your friend suffer."  She stared down at the pillow beneath her, not knowing why she was arguing with him. Truth be told, she was glad that he'd come.

"Come on, Ingrid. You can't lie, I know you too well." He leaned a little closer, staring her down with a heated gaze. He was concerned; maybe her sudden infirmities had gotten her discouraged, and she'd given up all hope.

"You're right. I can't lie," She consented, a hint of sarcasm present in her voice. "And... I'm glad you're here. But..."

"But nothing. You _can't_ give up, Ingrid. You're going to make it out okay." He was even having a hard time convincing himself... And she knew this, apparently, because her tone never shifted. She shot him a poisonous look, just short of a glare.

"So we both can't lie." And she averted her gaze to the pillow again.

"Ingrid, listen... " He wasn't sure whom he was trying to convince. "You can't let this get to you. Maybe your recovery isn't an assured victory, but waiting to die isn't going to help your chances! Please, Ingrid..." He let his voice trail off.

The girl he was talking to didn't move a muscle. She was staring off behind Fillmore, possibly at the wall (also known as blank space). She could've been thinking of what he'd just said... or, perhaps she'd disregarded him altogether. Who knew?

"If you ever need someone to talk to, hey, Third, I'm your man." He announced gently, arms folded across his chest. Her eyes darted up at him briefly as he said those last few words, but shortly afterwards, she tried to avoid eye contact once again. "And I'll be here as long as you need me to be..."

Fillmore was interrupted by a passing nurse. She'd overheard a few snippets of the one-sided conversation and was shocked to see Ingrid awake. Without warning, in sprinted an overweight, middle-aged woman with graying hair, clutching her clipboard anxiously, her white nurses' hat tilted to one side as she took a gander at the girl in the bed.

"Good heavens, the child's awake!" The woman motioned to another curious nurse who stood by outside. "You said we'd lost her, Elisabeth!"

The second nurse, a significantly younger woman with blonde hair, poked her head inside. "She was on the verge of a coma, and her condition was only getting worse. I didn't think she had much hope."

The eldest of the two nurses only shook her head to signify her disapproval. "I don't want to hear about your assumptions, Beth. Go get the doc! And as for you, kid..." She turned towards a flabbergasted Fillmore. "Not to be rude, but shoo, shoo!" She ushered him out of the room.

"Not to be rude, ma'am..." Fillmore began, an annoyed edge clear in his voice. "But I'd like to stay with my partner."

The woman didn't respond at first, but the look on her face expressed everything going through her head: impatience, disbelief, frustration.

"Ingrid and I have been through a lot. She's always stuck by me, and dog, I'm always gonna be there to back her up. It's a promise that comes with partnership... No, with _friendship_," he narrowed his eyes. "And snap, you know what? I'm not gonna be a lousy friend." Fillmore jabbed a finger towards the inside of the room, making it clear that he was bent on _not_ moving.

The nurse's expression softened a bit, but she remained firm. "Sorry, kid, but I'm only doing my job. We need everyone out of the room so we can diagnose her sickness, and perhaps try and find a way to hold it off." She pointed further down the hallway. "Head down to the waiting room. We'll alert you of when you can see her again."

Fillmore knew it was no use objecting. And anyways, a sudden onslaught of doctors was already making their way towards Ingrid's hospital room to take her away. He sighed, dispirited, and made his way towards the waiting room. 


	3. Does Chastity Mean Virtue?

**_A Bond Unbroken_**

Author's Note - I am updating something. Do you know what that may mean? It means that the apocalypse is coming. Prepare for the end.

Part Three - Does Chastity Mean Virtue?

The rest of the safety patrol watched, concerned, as Fillmore flopped into his same old seat, just like he did every day. If you didn't know him too well, you wouldn't be able to tell anything was wrong; most kids were constantly downtrodden as it was, having to waste their time at school. But Fillmore had a certain aura about him whenever he was upset. It was almost as if he were giving off some kind of frost - the air around him felt cold. 

"Hey, Fillmore," Greeted Anza, as casually as he could muster, although his obvious uneasiness remained evident in his voice. "Vallejo's sending me down to the cafeteria to get us some donuts. Do you want any?"

Fillmore answered only with a negative shake of the head. It was clear he wasn't much in the mood for talking. Regardless, Joseph tried again, though knew he'd get the same response.

"You sure? It could help calm your nerves."

Fillmore took a deep, shaky breath. _Can't blame them for trying._ "No thanks, man."

Joseph heaved a dismissive sigh. If there was one thing the safety patrol had learned, it was that Fillmore just couldn't be swayed. Once he had his mind made up, it would take a miracle to make him think differently. "...'Kay." With one last, troubled glance, Anza sauntered out of the room.

With Joseph gone, a deathly silence loomed over HQ. Each of them silently longed to ask Fillmore the dreaded question, but they knew the guy was probably wavering on an unstable emotional teeter-totter, and the smallest of actions could trigger the greatest of effects… Although despite what he'd just been through, he looked calm as ever (of course, the glasses he always wore completely concealed his eyes), save for his complete lack of energy. 

O'Farrell couldn't take the total quiet. He was the first to break the ice, the first to dare and ask that fateful question:

"So, Fillmore... How was Ingrid?"

Suddenly, everyone's eyes were on Cornelius. They looked towards him expectantly. Fillmore sighed tiredly, and merely shook his head.

"Bad, man." 

It sounded pathetic, even to him. But he was sure that one word could get the message across just as well as if he'd given them an entire three-minute diagnosis of her condition.

"Don't stress too much. All we can do is hope for the best." Tehama put in, trying her best to be supportive. "And besides, the Ingrid I know won't give up without a fight."

"Well, then, maybe she's not the Ingrid you know..."

"Don't doubt her, Fillmore. If I know Ingrid half as well as you claim to-"

Karen stopped in mid-sentence as the door swung open with a WHAM. The Safety Patrollers all turned to the doorway, expecting to see Anza back with the donuts. To their dismay, it was actually Jr. Commissioner Vallejo, and his worried brows were arched in a way that signaled trouble.

"Fillmore! Third! We got a situation 'ere..." He turned towards the two officers' desks. _...Where's Third?_  It took him a good four seconds to recall all of what had happened the previous day. He felt a pang of guilt override his anger, and it only got worse when he saw Fillmore visibly flinch after hearing his partner's name. _D'oh._

"Oh... Right..." Vallejo used one arm to rub the back of his head awkwardly. "Anyway, we just got word about a couple of students that have been warring against each other the past few days. You know; raiding each other's lockers, distracting each other during sporting events, that kind of thing."

Fillmore shook his head. "Come on, Vallejo! We don't have time to deal with stuff like this! If two kids are fighting, we have to let them work it out among _themselves_."

"Case closed." Tehama added.

Vallejo's eyes only narrowed further. "It's gradually getting more and more serious. According to an anonymous source, the monthly pep rally is where one of them will strike next. They're two seventh-grade girls - Chastity Chandler and Faith Freeman. Faith is on the cheerleading squad, and as the posters hung around about X may be able to tell you, the squad is planning a big event for that particular occasion. We think Chastity is going to try and rig their stunt to get back at Faith."

"What do these two have against each other?" Fillmore asked.

Vallejo shrugged. "No one's really sure - for all we know, they just woke up one morning and decided to hate each other.  But whatever the reason, I want Chastity's rumored attack on the pep rally investigated." He sighed, and leaned against his desk for support. "Are you sure you're up to this, Fillmore? We can send Anza or Tehama with you. Or you could just sit this one out..."

"I'll check it out, Vallejo. But I'm doing it _solo_." 

His commissioner rolled his eyes. Fillmore had always been quite a stubborn one. "Suit yourself."

-

Fillmore melted into the crowd as he walked down one of X's many hallways. He was in one of his undercover disguises… One of his least favorites, to be precise. His clothes were baggy and he wore a hat like a rapper would; not to mention that his jeans sported several small chains. He looked just like any other junior high punk who was trying to "fit in". He rehearsed the little introduction in his head, the one he would use if things turned bad: _Safety patrol officer Cornelius Fillmore. I need to ask you a few questions, Chastity. _Yeah, sounded good enough. He could cope without Ingrid. He had before she'd come along, and he could do it again.

He'd never met Chastity before, but he'd seen her around. Her pale blonde, almost white, hair was hard to forget. And every single day, she wore the same bright yellow blazer with baggy light gray jeans that stopped right before her ankles, like capris. She'd always been a total fashion flop. A member of absolutely squat-nada extracurricular clubs, miraculously, and the only way Fillmore knew her all was because she had once been the sole witness of a long-forgotten crime many months ago. He hadn't interrogated her, though; Joseph and Karen had. So they'd never really been properly introduced.

Chastity was, conveniently enough, situated at her locker, desperately trying to cram in a few large textbooks. A few stands of her hair sprung loose with every shove. Fillmore approached her, quietly, and leaned against a nearby locker as he watched her antics. The girl had finally gotten one of the textbooks in; but when she tried to fit in the other one, it fell back out again and fell atop her foot, making her flinch with pain. She cursed bitterly under her breath, and bent over to pick it up again.

Fillmore felt a small, almost amused smile start to form on the corners of his lips. "Need a little help?"

Chastity yelped; not knowing she had been watched. She turned to glance at Fillmore, and her eyes narrowed in irritation.

"I don't need _your_ help." She stated, simply, and tried, again to no avail, to cram the last textbook in.

Fillmore shook his head. "Yes, you do. You're putting it in the wrong way. You'll never fit it in like that." 

Chastity opened her mouth to object, then sighed, exasperated, and took a step away from her locker, handing Fillmore the textbook as she did. Fillmore took it from her and approached her locker in confidence. Without applying hardly any real effort, the safety patroller rearranged the books in such a manner that they'd all fit. The girl raised a brow, surprised, then giggled as Fillmore shot her a triumphant glance. 

"Didn't need my help, eh?" He drawled slyly. 

Chastity gave him a smug smirk to match his own, as she closed her locker door and picked her remaining textbook (the one she actually needed for her next class) up off the ground. "Oh, please. I could've managed without you." She shot a glance at the clock, then turned back to her company, as the smile on her face never once faltered. "I just got a schedule change. I've been promoted to Geometry - an eighth-grade math class - so I have more textbooks now than I'm used to. Unfortunately, I don't know where my new room is. It's number 171a. Might you happen to know?"

Of course Fillmore knew - he was a safety patroller, it was important for him to know his way around the building. But under-cover, he was a "different kid", a regular one with less know-how.

"Geometry? Sorry, haven't a clue… but I bet I could find it, if m'lady would let me escort her." Fillmore held out his arm. Chastity stared at it for a moment, baffled, but after a moment's thought she gratefully accepted his invitation, and clung to his arm playfully.

"All right, mister…?"

"Duncan. Mark Duncan."

"All right, mister Duncan, I'll accompany you. But you'd better get me to Geometry on time." She gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder, and without hesitance, trailed behind Fillmore as he led the way. 

The most essential part of an under-cover mission was always to get to know the suspects, and hang around with them until they felt comfortable discussing (and revealing secrets about) crime-related matters. Girls were typically easier to woo into doing this. But Chastity didn't seem much like the "ruining a pep rally" type. A playful, prankful type, maybe, and an obvious social misfit, but not the kind of girl who'd go out and cause so much trouble. By the time Fillmore had led her to the Geometry room, they were talking like old friends.

"You know, I still don't know your name." Fillmore lied, as they stood in Geometry's doorway. He already felt guilty about fibbing to her, but he had to put up a believable performance so she'd feel comfortable talking with him.

"Oh… My name?" Chastity bit her lip nervously. "Uh… Well, you see…"

The bell rang, and before Fillmore had a chance to hear her reply, Chastity dashed madly into her seat, not wanting to be counted tardy. Fillmore's face fell as he gave her a discreet wave and, sighing, walked away.

-

Fillmore returned to HQ and the smell of fresh donuts. Joseph had long since returned, and the donut box was open and vacant. It looked like it might've been ripped apart at the seams. Only Danny's donut remained, for he took tiny nibbles of it in between bits of paperwork.

"Hey, Fillmore." Anza greeted casually, hoping that Cornelius was feeling a bit better. "I saved a donut for you. It's over on your desk. I thought maybe you'd change your mind."

Fillmore started to object… then stopped abruptly. He _was _really hungry. "Thanks, Anza." He marched over towards his desk and slumped down in his chair, picking the donut up off of the napkin it was wrapped in and looking it over as if checking for poison. After deciding it looked safe enough, he took a cautious bite, and after a moment of thoughtful chewing, took a few loose forms out of his desk. His paperwork was long overdue.

"Ingrid, come on over. I'm supposed to give Folsom a report on our last case. Do you remember Dale Etherbold's student records? I don't want to go digging for them."

Every other patroller's head snapped up in alarm. Karen and Joseph shot each other equally startled glances, Danny choked on the piece of donut he was chewing on, and Vallejo rose from his seat.

"Do you have your mind on something else?" Vallejo asked, quietly. "Focus, Fillmore, focus! Ingrid's not here right now."

Fillmore raised a brow. _Was she on a bathroom break? Or…_ His eyes widened in remembrance. _Snap, snap, snap! How could I have forgotten?!!? _"Oh… dog." His eyes fell to the desk. "…You want the rest of my donut, Danny? I don't want it." He couldn't think of much else to say at the moment, other than that he'd suddenly lost his appetite.

_I've got to go visit Ingrid again._


End file.
